


Savor

by dogeared



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Community: cliche_bingo, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-07
Updated: 2009-07-07
Packaged: 2017-10-03 20:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dogeared/pseuds/dogeared
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's easily the most nerve-wracking two-and-a-half minutes in recent memory, which is really saying something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Savor

**Author's Note:**

> "food, cooking and mealtimes"

This is like a crazy Pegasus-galaxy cross between _Password_ and _Top Chef_, John decides, and it's easily the most nerve-wracking two-and-a-half minutes in recent memory, which is really saying something.

Also, Rodney turns out to be ridiculously competitive about the whole thing, which means that now he's snapping his fingers because John's not quick enough, and John can feel his t-shirt sticking to his back and sweat gathering under his arms. He shoves the next sample dish into Rodney's waiting hand and yells the first random clues that pop, panicked, into his head—"State fair! Elephant ears! Red hots!"—while Rodney, blindfolded, chews and hmmmms like he's suddenly some kind of expert in identifying sacred spices in the Ignaafi's traditional dishes.

"Oh, oh, the cinnamon-apple one, um, _rellnat_!" Rodney crows. "Why didn't you just _say_ cinnamon? Or Apple Jacks? NEXT!" He snaps again and holds out his hand, slightly to the left of where John's actually sitting, and John nearly fumbles the little ceramic dish trying to get it to him. The contents are greenish and creamy and vaguely gelatinous, and they slosh threateningly, and John figures it's a good thing Rodney can't see them.

"Hmmm," Rodney says again, smacking his lips, and John has to grab the dish back because he's already forgotten which spice name is inked on its side in scrolling, curly calligraphy, and they're running out of time, and he's pretty sure Rodney's rolling his eyes behind the blindfold, so he mutters "Jesus," and then yells more desperately, "Um, cucumber! Miracle whip! Raw onion," watching Rodney swipe his tongue over his bottom lip thoughtfully.

"Oh, really, _rignamal_? I never would have guessed that—very subtle," and John's about three seconds from smacking his sweaty forehead against the table, which is lucky, because it's only two seconds before time's called and everyone's clapping and swooping in to pat Rodney on the back.

* * * * *

This is probably going to be another one of those planets where they'll find disturbing portraits of Rodney hanging on the walls the next time they visit. John thinks about that as he nurses his ale and watches Rodney get more hearty pats on the back (after all, it's not like he could help who he was partnered with, wink wink). People promise to exchange recipes with him, and he gets cornered by at least three different wizened old women, all of whom apparently want to discuss the finer points of authentic rellnat fritters with him.

He's on his third ale (which, he's starting to notice, has a distinctive aftertaste of Apple Jacks) by the time Rodney finally joins him. He lets out a long groan as he eases down on the bench next to John, which John interprets as _God, it's so exhausting being such a well-regarded genius_. He slumps back against the wall and closes his eyes, and John slides a bowl of salty, crunchy not-beer nuts over to him.

"I do not want to know what's in those," Rodney says, eyes still closed, and it's just dark enough at their table, and John's had just enough fruity beer, that he leans over and kisses the corner of Rodney's mouth. He kisses Rodney's cheek and the dark shadow under his jaw and navigates back to his mouth again, where there's spice layered on warming spice, and a kind of sense memory hits him all at once, because he's thought this about Rodney before: that he's the sort of slow burn that sneaks up on you until you're gasping, until you're overwhelmed. John shivers, and Rodney hmmmms appreciatively, like this is his real reward for winning the stupid game show, like John's the best thing he's tasted today, like John's the best thing he's ever tasted in his whole life.


End file.
